among a hundred tombstones
by goingthruthemotions
Summary: This day was always the hardest for her. It was a painful reminder of the past and everything she wished could be the same but wasn't. Sharing a birthday had never been a problem for her before Pietro died. Now he was gone, and she couldn't find it in herself to celebrate with anyone else but him.


_Summary: This day was always the hardest for her. It was a painful reminder of the past and everything she wished could be the same but wasn't. Sharing a birthday had never been a problem for her before Pietro died. Now he was gone, and she couldn't find it in herself to celebrate with anyone else but him._

—

Why was it that time always seemed to stop every time she came here? It was as if the earth dramatically stood still, which was ironically the exact _opposite_ of what Pietro used to do.

 _Used to._

She hated that phrase. She hated saying everything about him in past tense. Somehow it made the lump in her throat a little bigger and the whole in her heart a little wider. It reminded her all over again that nothing lasts forever, not even family.

It was drizzling, but she didn't bring an umbrella. They couldn't manage to steal an umbrella on the streets of Sokovia, so it didn't make sense for her to use one when coming here. She didn't stand. She couldn't—her knees would give out underneath her if she tried—so she just sat there, her elbows resting on her crossed legs as one hand was supporting her chin, and her other hand absentmindedly running her fingers through the dirt and gravel beneath her.

This is as close to Pietro as she can get. Wanda knows this. But she also knows that she'll never see his cocky smile, or hear his rare, genuine laugh that he only saves— _saved_ —for her. Today being her— _their_ —birthday just made every ounce of pain ten times worse, and the weight on her shoulders a hundred times heavier.

She knows she should talk to Steve or Clint, or even Natasha. But they didn't even _know_ it was her birthday. Her file didn't say her and Pietro's exact date of birth—due to HYDRA's lack of interest in their subjects' birthdays—and she never told anyone.

There was never a time to.

Time was something everyone in the world seemed to be running out of. When she was much younger, even before they got their enhancements, Wanda had always believed that her brother was untouchable. That nothing in the universe could ever touch him, not even time.

 _Irrational,_ she thought bitterly. It was an irrational thought of a naive little girl. She knew that time gives before it takes, but she hadn't thought it would take Pietro. She hadn't thought it would take her parents.

She wondered when it would take her too.

Wanda released a shaky breath that she hadn't realized she'd been holding in. Maybe she should be breaking down and sobbing hysterically. But maybe she was out of tears. Crying never helped anyone in Sokovia, and it didn't solve any of her problems. She didn't do it then, so she wouldn't do it now.

And maybe bottling every emotion up was unhealthy. Maybe it would do more damage than good. But opening up and baring her soul wasn't really a luxury Wanda had in Sokovia. It wasn't a luxury _anyone_ had in Sokovia. Besides, she would rather sit here and stare at the sickeningly gray headstone than try to determine whatever was going on with her fragile emotional state.

 _Pietro Danil Maximoff._

 _March 8, 1995–May 1, 2015_

 _Brother, hero, and friend._

Maybe Wanda should have engraved more. But her hands were shaking relentlessly that day, and she knew that if she could've written more, she would never stop. There was so much more to Pietro than the anger and grief he directed towards the world, so much more that no one would ever know. She wasn't sure if there was anything more to her, though. Her father always told her and Pietro: _Vy libo umirayete geroyem, libo zhivete dostatochno dolgo, chtoby uvidet' sebya zlodeyem._ "You either die a hero, or live long enough to see yourself become a villain."

She wasn't sure which one she was anymore. She was trying to be the hero her brother was, but who knows, maybe deep down _she's_ the actual villain.

"Happy birthday, _brate,"_ she choked out, her voice cracking at saying the Sokovian word she had always called him. " _Happy birthday, sestra,"_ she could almost hear him respond.

This day was always the hardest for her. It was a painful reminder of the past and everything she wished could be the same but wasn't. Sharing a birthday had never been a problem for her before Pietro died. Even on the streets, they always found some way to make their day a little brighter. Even when they were basically imprisoned at the HYDRA base, they always managed to find a way to sneak out and spend a day in the sun, even if it meant being punished for it afterwards. They were born together. But never in her right mind did she ever think they would die apart.

Wanda looked up for about the first time since she came, trying not to drown in her memories. She looked around at all the headstones, and couldn't help but count them, desperate for anything that could possibly distract her. She counted one hundred, including Pietro's. She couldn't help but think about all the young volunteers in Sokovia. When she didn't count herself, there were one hundred of them. Coincidence? Wanda didn't know. But she wouldn't be surprised if all the one hundred graves belonged to those one hundred volunteers. She knew it was rationally impossible. She had heard what Strucker had said to one of the doctors. _The dead will be buried so deep, their own ghosts won't be able to find them._ But it was an interesting, yet horrifying comparison to make. One hundred and one people volunteered for human experimentation, and one hundred of those people who volunteered are dead. Only one remains.

And of course, Wanda has to be the only one among the hundred tombstones. She looked back at her brother's headstone and gently slid her fingers along the smooth, not yet weathered edges.

"I am the last one, _brate,_ but I do not wish to be. I wish you were here. I love you, and happy birthday." She could almost hear an, " _I love you too, sestrica,"_ echo in her mind.

Almost.

—

 **A/N: So I realize that I haven't published in a really long time. But I have been writing a lot, but due to school and piles of homework, I haven't been able to actually finish anything. Though high school isn't that stressful, it's a ton of work, especially with basketball tryouts next week. Hope you enjoyed this, and reviews are always nice.**

 **P.S: I also know it's been a while since Pietro died, but it's still painful and he needs to be remembered, always. ;(**


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